The Second Coming of Arthur
by Someone-or-the-other
Summary: Superwholock Merlin. My first fic ever. Hope you enjoy. Reviews highly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: MERLIN

London rain. Ugh. Merlin hated the weather here. Why was it always so wet and cold all the time?

He frowned up at the sky, getting a face full of rain in response. Spluttering, he wiped his face on his jacket sleeve and continued walking along the sidewalk.

As he walked, he put in his earphones and started listening to _King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table._

"I come of King Arthur's court! He who is the greatest king-" _Prat_ , thought Merlin— "in the land! Stand fast, cur, so that I may joust with you in the name of my noble lord!"

Merlin had to snort. Funny how much stories changed after a few centuries. _Well, Arthur is still pretty okay,_ he grumbled. _I'm just an old guy who gave him his shiny new sword in the beginning! Bet he'd laugh his arse off if he ever found out._

Gradually the rain subsided.

 _Finally,_ thought Merlin. _Why couldn't Arthur have made Albion in the Bahamas or something?_

He sighed. No matter how much he tried to ignore the feeling, it still crept up on him. He was weary. Immensely. He had been wandering the world for more than a thousand years, looking for Arthur, and yet there was no sign of him, of anyone from the old days. Not even a whisper. But Kilgharrah had promised him Arthur would come again. _So where was he?_

Suddenly a sharp, jarring sound interrupted his line of thought. He popped his earphones out, and tried to locate the familiar sound. He muttered under his breath, his eyes turning gold. Merlin's sight went down a street, left, right and left again, before coming to a completely normal London suburb, except for one thing— a peculiar blue 1960's police box.

"Doctor," breathed Merlin, and started running down the streets.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: SHERLOCK

The rain lashed against the windows. The wind howled so much that all other sounds were drowned out. Sherlock was bent over a microscope, quietly muttering to himself.

Suddenly he straightened up.

"See, John?" He cried exuberantly. "This substance is undoubtedly glue. You can clearly see the hair and dust particles sticking out…" He trailed off, remembering that he was, in fact, alone in St. Barts, and that John had moved out to live with Mary, the only selfish action of his Sherlock could recall in the entirety of their friendship.

Pulling out the sample, Sherlock bent down and repositioned the microscope. Squinting as he did so.

 _Scratch mark. Hmm… Molly is rarely so careless. The disparate pattern of the scratches clearly indicates the presence of alcoholic influence. Molly has been letting someone else in…_

Intriguing. Maybe he should investigate further when he had the time. Right now, however, he was simply bored out of his mind. He needed a fix.

 _I'm not sure what's gotten into the criminal classes these days. Where's the initiative? Even the stage is set with all this blasted rain. Fortunate indeed for the people of London that I'm not a criminal._

Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. Sherlock grimaced. If this didn't let up soon, he would get soaked on the way back.

Sherlock quickly checked his mobile phone. No new texts. Damn. Even a text from Lestrade would be welcome, however childish the problem faced by the imbecilic Scotland Yard might be.

Sherlock thought back to that peculiar case he had worked on with those strange American brothers, the Winchesters and their friend a few weeks back. It had something to do with a recent spate of gruesome murders across London, largely separate incidents except for the lingering smell of sulfur.

That case had been fun, although the Americans had been too… mystical for his taste. What with all the talk of angels and demons and whatnot. However, they were highly dependable in a fight, especially that older Winchester. Shame John hadn't been around then. He would've liked him.

That case had been curious. Although the Winchesters had been reluctant to share information, he had deduced that what they were doing had some deep connection with their family, and there was deep childhood trauma attached as well. He could also tell that they were used to being on the wrong side of the law.

He smirked. Superstitious or not, he had developed a certain liking for them. He hoped they would have a chance to work together again.

Suddenly, a sharp noise caught his attention. A shrill, piercing sound he had heard before.

He grinned. If the Doctor was in town, than the game was on.


End file.
